


The Law Of Suspects

by 24tigers



Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-04
Updated: 2012-10-04
Packaged: 2017-11-15 15:40:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/528864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/24tigers/pseuds/24tigers





	The Law Of Suspects

_July 1789_

Life would almost be easier if they were closed. It’s hard for Peeta not to give away what they don’t have -- his bleeding heart can’t bear to see the starving children standing in front of the counter with their hands open, shamelessly begging for food. Nobody is above begging at this point. Not when it’s the difference between life and death.

While she knows that they have more than most -- bread on the table, clean water, and a warm place to sleep, at the rate they are going, there won’t be much left for them.

The child stands in front of the counter, mud stuck to his face, layers of soot under his fingernails, and weakly starts pointing at the bread.

“S'il vous plaît,” he begs.

Katniss looks over at Peeta’s empathetic, heartbroken face and watches as he cuts a small loaf of bread in half and places it in his small hands. Once had, immediately, the little one books it out the door.

Katniss rubs her temples in frustration. “We can’t keep giving it away,” she tells him. “We need to figure something else out. We’ll have to close the bakery otherwise.”

Honestly, they probably will either way. Just last week, Peeta had a musket aimed at him for refusing a man pastries. These are desperate times in France and it’s only going to get worse.

Peeta looks drained. How obvious it is that he’s stressed, exhausted, that he worries for the poverty-stricken population. People are ill, starving, dying young. It’s in his compassionate nature to want to fix a mess caused by the monarchy, but he fails to realize this is beyond anything he can fix. Nearly half of someone’s weekly income could be spent on just a single loaf of bread.

He can’t feed the entire city of Paris.

“Look, we’ll make do,” he says, pulling Katniss close. “It doesn’t matter what we have, as long as we have each other. I’ll live in the streets with you if I must,” he murmurs against her cheek affectionately.

Every time he does this it makes her weak in the knees.

“You have to be realistic Peeta--” Katniss is cut off by a loud series of gunshots that echo through the streets, followed by high-pitched shrills.

They look at one another wide eyed and then run out to the road, scanning their surroundings. Chaos is afoot.

In the distance, they can see the tall, gray prison is surrounded by commoners. Thick, black smoke fills the air from the cannon recently being fired. A small crowd files around the bodies on the ground just before the sounds of muskets begin.

It all happens so quickly, it’s almost surreal.

Katniss immediately goes into survival mode, but Peeta doesn’t think to run until a large explosion hits not far from where they are, knocking them off their feet, destroying a carriage and eradicating anything else close by. Dizzy and on his back while attempting to come to, Peeta turns his head over and witnesses the small boy who he just gave bread to, still as ever. Not breathing.

“Come on!” Katniss says, grabbing Peeta’s hand, bringing him back to reality. She tries to move quickly, but Peeta is favoring an injured knee that bleeds heavily. She takes off her shirt and wraps it tightly around the wound, all but carrying him out of harm’s way.

Once they’re back at the bakery, Peeta immediately collapses against the door and grasps a hold of his leg. The skin around his knee mangled and dirty, covered in dry blood. She cleans it with a wet cloth and applies an herbal remedy which makes him wince in pain, but she can tell when it slowly begins to subside.

“Come here,” he says, grabbing a hold of her waist and bringing her down to him. She accepts his affectionate hold despite the fact that they’re soiled in Peeta’s blood and gun soot. In a way, Katniss finds it comforting. The recent unfolding of events is enough to make her skin crawl.

“What the hell is happening?” she inquires, trembling, trying to ignore the lingering ringing in her ears from the explosion.

“War,” Peeta whispers, planting a kiss down on the top of her head.

___

  
_October 1791_

The odds of a republic being formed are growing stronger. The days of absolute monarchy are numbered.

The bakery remains open, despite the famine growing throughout Paris. Violence has taken a turn for the worse. Multiple food riots have overtaken the streets in the last few months causing people to storm the bakery with knives and firearms. Undoubtedly this is due to scarce resources. With continued upheavals, the masses in poverty and secret pamphlets being passed around, Katniss and Peeta can trust no one. Taking political sides has proven to be dangerous, and while everyone seems to be for or against something, they can’t risk to take sides. Not in public anyway. They’re more worried about living.

On a muggy fall evening, they lay in bed, limbs tangled with one another’s while Peeta listens to Katniss.

“I don’t trust it. How do they plan on making this ‘republic’ work? It’s just a bunch of rich people deciding for us. Knowing them, we’ll probably all still starve.”

“Try not to think about it,” Peeta pleads, wrapping his arms around her tighter and holding her close.

“I started reading something the other day,” she whispers, ignoring his last comment. “Du Contrat Social,” she says.

“I thought that was banned?” Peeta replies wide eyed, looking down at her from his pillow.

“It was.”

“So, how did you get it?”

“Finnick brought it to me,” she explains. “It’s wonderful. You should read it.”

Reading is an unknown luxury to most in Paris. Many people don’t have access to education or resources, so they must go without. Katniss sees this as an advantage, however. Having knowledge will only keep her and Peeta alive longer.

“Katniss, you don’t still have it, do you? If so, you need to get rid of it immediately. If they find you with it, they’ll kill you!” Peeta yells, but she knows it is warranted. He has every right to be angry. “They” are the Paris guards, the authority, and they show no mercy when it comes to matters such as this. They don’t want people to know what’s going on -- they just want innocent citizens to assume that whatever the government is doing, that whatever is happening is for the best, that way no one can question them. And if no one questions them, there is to need to defend an uprising.

“I’ve got it hidden,” she assures him. “Stop worrying. We’ll be fine.” Katniss plants a gentle kiss on his lips, but Peeta doesn’t respond. She’s persistent though, and won’t back away until he reciprocates.

Peeta’s kisses remind her of that feeling you get right before you fall.

“You need to be careful. I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you,” he says against her lips, nearly quivering.

“You’re not going to lose me. We have each other, always,”Katniss responds. Their mouths move against each other’s with fervor, and there is no need for words to do the talking.

____

_July 1792_

Peeta is pulled away.

Everything becomes still, painful. She keeps a musket under her pillow that Finnick gives her and another is stored at bakery, hidden under the counter in case beggars try to attack her. Luckily, no one has forced her to use it yet.

After two months, she finally gets her first letter from him.

 _We seem to be losing men everywhere we go, but yet gain more along the way. I hate to admit that I hide in the midst of battle. I don’t want to die for all this, as it seems to be for nothing. It’s so cold here, and all I can think of is you. The fighting is gruesome. The Prussians kill with ease and spare the lives of no one. They fight dirty. There is talk, however, that I may be able to come home soon. The government may be creating something new. I hope this is the case. I miss you more than anything. Remember; I love you and we have each other, always. Peeta_  
___

_January 1793_

The guillotine comes down. King Louis XVI is no more.

French monarchy is no more.

The streets echo with cheers, but Katniss can only sit and watch, praying that Peeta comes home. Her stomach knots with worry. A world without him is one made of fear and loneliness.

____

_Brumaire, 1793_

Things are changing in Paris.

It’s not just the fall fog taking over, but the Committee of Public Safety. Nothing is as it was previously. Even the calendar has been altered because the new government feels the previous had far too many royalist and religious influences.

Loi des suspects is also in effect -- an unforgiving decree it is, really. Anyone even considered being anti - revolutionary and against the new government will meet the guillotine.

  
And heads have been rolling.

  
Katniss fingers the binding to her Rousseau text as she sits in the wooden rocker, looking over at Finnick. He’s concentrating intently on his own book.

  
The controversial text of Rousseau is a fascinating read that discusses ideologies of political questioning, the state of nature and basically all things not approved by the new government. Such things are a matter of treason. Her thoughts are treason. Her life is treason. Everything at this point is undoubtedly treason.  
Katniss has attempted to keep the book well hidden, storing it under the floorboards beneath the bed. Reading and Finnick are the only things keeping her going right now, and she can’t give up either.  
They continue to sit in the quiet, listening to the crackling fire just before them. The window has a coat of fog over it, and it reminds her of the day Peeta wrote out “toujours” in the bakery’s cloudy front window just to make her smile.

“Where is he, Finn?” Katniss asks after a long period of silence, staring in the distance.

  
“He’ll be home soon,” Finnick assures her, but Katniss isn’t dense. She knows what these are; nothing more than empty promises.

  
She bites her bottom lip and opens up her book, chocking back what may be the hard truth. We all die at some point, this is inevitable. But the thought of Peeta already being gone, to never again see his smile, to touch his lips, to run her fingers through his blonde curls -- it’s too much to fathom.

  
“Ne t'inquiète pas,” Finnick tells her as he notices her fighting back her tears. Compassionately, he comes to her, wrapping his arms around her neck and giving her a rare moment to let go. She almost never allows herself to cry, but just this time, she feels it’s warranted. Perhaps it’s ridiculous, sobbing in such a manner. Maybe she should be over it by now -- it’s been over a year since anyone has heard from him. It’s just that every time she thinks about it, the odds of him returning become less likely and it reality sets in. His face becomes harder to remember.  
“Ne t'inquiète pas,” Finnick whispers again.

  
___

_Nivose, 1793_

Annie Cresta bangs on her door frantically in the deep of the night.

  
Katniss pulls herself out of bed hastily and runs to let in the bitter cold of winter.

  
“They have Finnick,” Annie cries at the entranceway, tears streaming down her face. Katniss swallows the lump in her throat as realization hits her.

“What? How?” She asks panic stricken. 

Perhaps Annie is just forgetting or not thinking clearly, but Finnick is not the only one in danger at this point. The committee works through connections - once they have one, it becomes a matter of association from that point forward. They seek out relatives, spouses, anyone and everyone that means something to that person, and begin to dig for any material considered tyranny. It’s heinous. Intrusive. Deadly.

“They just came out of nowhere and took him,” Annie manages between sobs.

In reality, Katniss didn’t need to ask why. She already knows the answer to why they’ve taken Finnick. He is smart, persuasive and has connections with the public. He also hasn’t been nearly discreet enough. She tried to warn him that they would be watching, but he didn’t listen. Recently, the committee started sending guards out in the middle of the night where they break into homes, raping women and killing children all while claiming to look for things considered treason. And Finnick, much like Katniss, shares the love of books, all which talk of the enlightenment and social reformation.

“We’ve got to get him back,” Annie pleads. “You’ve got to help me Katniss.”

  
Katniss can’t bring herself to do it. As much as she wants to shake her, to tell her to get it together, that it’s no use, she just can’t. Not when she still hopes that Peeta will return. It’s probably all irrelevant anyway. It’s only a matter of time before they come knocking on her door, tearing the place apart looking for propaganda or any kind of excuse to send her to the guillotine. 

It’s the next morning that Katniss and Annie head over to the prison in attempt to see Finnick, but are stopped in their tracks when a man approaches them with a stack of beautiful, handwritten programs.

  
“Care to buy a program for today’s execution, ladies?”

  
Annie gives the man a coin grabs a hold of the booklet quickly, skimming it up and down only to find the name Finnick O’Dair scripted at the bottom. The sob that follows is muffled and incoherent, and Katniss grabs a hold of her to assure she doesn’t fall.

She wants to be strong for Annie. She needs to be strong for Annie. She can’t let her silly emotions get in the way.

“They can’t kill him,” she cries.

 _But they can_ , she thinks to herself.

People begin to crowd around the tall wooden mechanism. Dry blood is crusted to the corners, leaving behind traces of its former victims. Katniss stares at the angled blade suspended in the air. One by one, the prisoners line up behind the guillotine from a short distance, and for a second, they can see Finnick’s empty green eyes.

Annie quivers.

Katniss keeps a tight hold on her. She knows that Annie wants to run to him, somehow try to save him, but she’ll only get herself killed in the process. And right now, as much as she doesn’t want to admit it, Katniss needs her.

It’s gruesome. Spectators cheer everywhere, throwing their hands up in the air with glee as the blade comes down one time after another. People vie to the front in attempt to get a better view. It’s devastating and brutal, and each time another body drops, Katniss has to look away to keep herself from heaving. When they push Finnick’s neck down into the contraption, Annie squeezes her arm and looks away.

“I can’t look,” she sobs.  
Katniss meets his gaze and a single tear forms in the corner of her eye. In that moment, she knows that she will miss him terribly, and that no friendship will ever have meant more.

And then, with one swift release, it’s over.  
____

_Nivose, 1793_

Katniss’ musket goes missing from the bakery.

The guards find it later on that evening in the lifeless hand of Annie Cresta.  
___

_Ventose 1794_

The bitter cold of winter has arrived, but it doesn’t matter. It’s only a reminder to feel, that her blood is still flowing.

Yet she feels nothing when she bleeds.

A newspaper sits on the counter, reading that the National Convention has abolished slavery throughout France. In the back of her mind, she wistfully hopes that it means the war is nearly over, that someway, somehow Peeta can return home.

_Just maybe..._

The speculations of treason have ceased. There has been no more talk of Katniss herself being anti-revolutionary since Annie’s death, although her book collection has secretly grown under the floor boards. The words of Voltaire and other philosophers have been helping her idle her time as she waits, patiently.

She doesn’t even know what she is waiting for anymore.

Then, one not particularly special morning she’s at the bakery, rolling out dough while silently cursing at herself for not being as skilled as Peeta. His loaves of bread would always come out perfectly risen, with a crisp golden brown top, yet succulent and flaky in the middle. She had never picked up on these abilities, though one would think she would. All the times she has spent watching him knead, scoop, beat. Part of her wishes she could just give up, find something else to be bad at, but she can’t bring herself to. She stays at the bakery because it helps her stay connected to him, reminds her of a time when he used to be there, tangible, unharmed, pink lips at her disposal whenever she wanted. She imagines those eyes looking down at her, those lips planting warm kisses to the top of her head.  
She throws the rolling pin at the wall in frustration, knocking over a stack of mixing bowls in the process.

“Well, that’s not helping anything.”

_That voice..._

As soon as she realizes that it comes from across the room, she darts her head around immediately. He is there, standing at the front door, thin, scruffy and unkempt, but none of it matters because he’s intact. Still breathing. Still existing.  
Her heart elevates.

“Peeta?” She asks astonished, trying to assure herself that she isn’t dreaming. Her heart can’t bear it if she is.

“It’s me,” he says with a weak smile. His eyelids look heavy, like he hasn’t slept in days.

Katniss leaps into his arms anyway, wrapping herself tightly around him, holding on harder than she has ever held onto anything in her life. She doesn’t even care about the fact that he smells sour or that his hair feels like straw. This, right here, is a luxury. Even if she didn’t know it before, she does now, and she’s never letting go of him again.  
__

_Pluviose 1794_

Tension has reached an all time high.

Less and less people are attending the public executions. Anti - revolutionaries are everywhere, only now people are better at hiding it. There are hush whispers of an uprising, but Peeta and Katniss distance themselves from it.

She doesn’t pry about his time away, but there is a difference in his demeanor. Peeta is guarded now, timid, even a bit anxious at times. Some days it’s better than others. On several evenings, he goes into fits of rage and practically becomes another person, breaking objects and running his fist into things.

But he always comes back, and each time he does, he’s closer to the same Peeta he was before.

It happens slowly, but they begin to grow back together. On a chilled night where snow builds at the windowsill, they lay in front of the fireplace and try to feel everything they lost. She runs her hands over his scarred body and wounded leg, planting kisses over his throat. They move slowly in front of the fire, relearning one another all over again. When it’s over, his fingers gently trace the line of her jaw and he whispers: “ _Je t'aime toujours._ ”  
__

_Ventose 1794_

At first, she isn’t sure what’s happening. Katniss thinks it may be been Peeta waking her from her deep slumber in the middle of the night while possibly having an episode.  
But the pulling of her arm is too forceful and unlike him, and it sends a shot of pain through the right side of her body. That’s when she looks up and recognizes those curved hats and white trousers, and begins to fight their grappling hands as they attempt to take her.

Peeta yells in the distance, but she can’t see what’s happening. Her feet are elevated way above the ground as the hand over her mouth muffles her screams. The only thing then visible is the horse and carriage that she is thrown into before a blunt force hits her head, and everything goes black.  
 ____

It’s bitter cold when she wakes on the hard, wet cement. The odor is pungent, smelling of urine, vomit and iron. The metal shackles around her ankles are tight, and the combination from the smell and loss of circulation makes her heave immediately.

 _I’m going to die_ , she thinks before heaving once again.

It’s almost like a tunnel dungeon with filthy, brick gray walls and cold drips coming from above. You can see stars in the sky at the end of it, almost giving out false hope. She prays that she’ll die from chill first with the brisk winds blowing through.

Katniss tries to close her eyes, but she’s afraid she won’t open them again. And every minute that passes is closer to morning, closer to the execution time.  
She watches as light faintly begins to course through the sky. It’s that point where the sun hasn’t quite set yet, but the dark isn’t as deep as before. That’s when she hears heavy footsteps traipsing quickly in the distance and her heart begins to race.

“Katniss!”

Her heart lifts at the sound of his voice as he runs towards her with a long key in his hand, and begins unlocking her shackles with haste, his hands quivering. Once free, she immediately wraps her arms around him in sweet relief.

“You’re here,” she whispers against his cheek, nearly in tears. She doesn’t even care how he found her, just that he did.

“ _Toujours_ ,” he replies sweetly. “But we have to move fast. They know I’m here.”

Katniss quickly comes back to reality, focusing on the two of them getting out alive. She never questions him, there is no need. They move on trust, and together, head for the dim light.  
They’re nearly to the end when they see a familiar set of white trousers and a red jacket, standing with a musket in his hand, pointing it directly at Peeta’s face.

“Don’t move,” he orders coldly. “You killed an officer, and that is treason,” There isn’t a single hitch in his voice. It’s smooth as butter.

Peeta moves himself in front of Katniss, shielding her from harm. “Look,” he says, trying to reason with him. “I’ll give you all the livre I have. Just let us go. You’ll never see us again.”

The guard spits on the ground next to his feet in response. “You filthy fucking peasant. I don’t want your treasonous money. The only thing you’re right about is that I’ll never see you again. Now turn the fuck back around, so you both can die.”

Peeta stands perfectly still, not moving.

“Fucking move!” He yells again, firing his musket to the ceiling.

In one swift motion, Peeta uses this opportunity to push him to the ground and kick away the gun, pinning him to the cement.  
“Run!” Peeta yells at Katniss while he continuously wrestles him down. She shakes her head at him fiercely. “No!” She orders back shakily. “I’m not leaving without you.”  
“Katniss, you’re wasting time! Run!”

As much as she doesn’t want to, she listens and quickly sets her feet in motion, trudging her bare feet through the cement, not stopping until she can take a breath. The prison is barely visible when she finally takes a break, gasping for air with her hands on her knees. That’s when the muffled gunshot fills the night air, and she breathing hitches. Trepidation takes over, and for a moment, she swears, even her heart stops beating.

“Peeta,” she whispers.


End file.
